The Difference Between a Pawn and a Knight
by Dorotea Senjak
Summary: Pansy Parkinson has a plan for Neville Longbottom but is it to make him her pawn or her knight?


1.

I sat, silently, staring haughtily at my uninvited guests. The only thing I moved was my left eyebrow, arching it occasionally to let the guests know I would not make the first move. If they wanted to sit and watch my eyebrow quirk up and down all day, I was willing to play along. They might have been uninvited, but I had to admit the guests were a welcome reprieve from the boredom of the day.

The man, and I use the term loosely, was obviously discomforted by the silence and he squirmed and fidgeted in his seat. The woman, and again I use the term loosely, radiated a fierce righteousness. Her conviction to her 'cause' amused me. I held back a giggle that kept trying to erupt from my throat and continued to sit wordlessly.

She broke first, I'm assuming all that righteous anger is difficult to keep reined in, and said, "If you know anything about Draco Malfoy's whereabouts, it is in your and _his_ best interest to tell us immediately."

I relaxed back into my plush chair and curled a finger around my chin, allowing a small smile to flit across my face. "And your _official_ capacity for asking that question would be….what?" I asked.

Ginny Weasley frowned, but refused to be intimidated. I was almost impressed. _Almost_ being the important word in that thought. Neville Longbottom, who sat next to her, threw her a panicked 'I-told-you-this-wouldn't-work' look. She ignored him and kept her fiery eyes locked on me. "The Ministry believes Draco Malfoy is deceased. We don't represent any _official _interest and you know it. This isn't a game, Pansy, don't make it one. We can help each other, if you could get past petty school grievances."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "We both know there is nothing petty about our grievances and at the risk of speaking in clichés, I must say that of course it is a game. There will be a winner, there'll be a loser and before we reach the end, many players will be lost. Apparently, Draco is one of those lost game pieces. Don't you agree, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville, surprised at having been addressed, jerked. "Um," he stuttered. I wondered if he had been brought along only because someone insisted Ginny could not come by herself. His eyes darted to the redhead, seeking guidance; when none was found he said, "No, I don't agree. This is a serious matter."

I scooted forward, so my knees were almost touching his. "Your voice lacks conviction, _Neville_."

He opened his mouth for what I'm certain would've have been a weak rebuttal, but Ginny spoke first. "Pansy, have you heard from Draco? Do you have any information that might help him be found? Do you know if he is alive?"

The barrage of questions unsettled me, for reasons I didn't want to examine too closely. I refused to let a _Weasley_ see my uneasiness though. I nonchalantly stared at her as I tapped my nails against the edge of the table next to my chair. "Let me think for a moment."

Ginny huffed and crossed her arms, her exasperation clearly showing. Neville appeared to be concentrating on not squirming uncomfortably. I studied his face. It was leaner than it had been last time I had seen him at Hogwarts. I fancied that it was his softness peeling away from him to reveal an edge – strength he had not had before -- but his behaviour belied my fancy. Perhaps it was just his protective plumpness had been stripped away and now he was exposed, an easy kill. Too bad, if that were the case, he needed an edge. We all needed an edge in times such as these.

"I've not seen nor heard from Draco since before the Headmaster….died," I said finally and crisply. It was time to use my edge. "Perhaps you would care to enlighten me to as why these questions were not asked a _year_ ago, when Draco disappeared. Why is there an interest _now_?" I paused to relish the spark of unease in Ginny's eyes now and Neville's resumed fidgeting. "And perhaps you could explain Mrs Malfoy's disappearance as well?"

I stood now, allowing my own righteous anger spill out. "I could not get any answers for those questions a year ago. No matter how often or whom I asked. Yet you two have the nerve to come here _now _and ask _me_ questions?"

Ginny stood and matched my withering glare with one of her own. How I hated her. "Your anger isn't going to help Draco."

I felt my face flush and my hands curled into fists. "Maybe I don't want to help him," I replied.

In the face of my honesty, Ginny nodded. "If you change your mind or remember something, you can owl us," she said with an understanding I hadn't expected and resented. I'd rather have her hatred than her sympathy. Sympathy was humiliating. Hatred I could return.

Neville belatedly realized the visit was ending and he lurched from his chair, his face inexplicably red. He stuck out his hand and said, "Thank you for you time, Miss Parkinson."

I stared blankly at his outstretched hand for a moment, torn between ignoring it or actually returning his polite gesture. Politeness, or perhaps it was just curiosity, as politeness is not something I typically feel it necessary to indulge in, won out and I shook his hand. His hand was clammy, but his grip was firm. I found myself pleased at the strength it represented. Maybe he was finding his edge. I was intrigued.

2.

That night, as I rolled about restlessly in bed, I tried to discern what had happened to Draco. I had not been lying when I said I had not heard from him. The official stance was missing, presumed dead. Just another causality of the war. Hardly worth mentioning in the wake of the death of Albus Dumbledore. I had my suspicions; there were too many coincidences. I hadn't known what Draco had been planning at Hogwarts; he had not chosen to tell me the details. For my safety or such nonsense. At the time, I had believed him. It is easy to believe someone you love, isn't it? But Professor Snape had disappeared at the same time, as had Narcissa Malfoy. She had apparently left in the middle of tea, for there had still been a warm cup when the authorities had appeared at Malfoy Manor.

I sat up, frowning deeply now. They – _they _ being Dumbledore's loyal minions – had been in custody of Draco. They had him and they had recently _lost _him. I had to grin. As much as I had tried to put my infatuation, okay, worship of Draco aside over the past year, the thought that they had LOST him filled me with malicious joy. He had escaped.

I blinked. Unless he hadn't, and he had actually been found by the Dark Lord's minions and murdered. Or worse. I wasn't sure what was worse than being murdered, but I wasn't a Dark Lord and I had a feeling he knew quite a few things that were worse than being murdered. I felt my stomach lurch. Romantic delusions aside (after all a girl can only pretend her boyfriend is just being "respectful of her" for so long before she realizes he's just not interested in what she has to offer), I had known Draco since before I could walk and talk. He, was, in fact, my oldest friend. A tear may have rolled down my cheek, but if it did, I quickly wiped it away. I did have to try help Draco. Or at least find out if he needed help or not. Or even just so I could stand stoically in my best robes at his funeral if that was all that was required at this point.

I found him sitting next to his mother's bed. He was reading to her from the _Daily Prophet_. I furrowed my brow and said, "She's already insane; there is no need to keep torturing her."

Neville jumped out of his chair, his expression a mix of surprise, embarrassment and anger. My eyes focused on the woman in the bed. She hadn't stirred or given any indication that she was aware of my presence in the room. Spooky.

I crossed my arms and watched as Longbottom stuttered. "What are you doing here?" he finally managed to sputter.

"I came to see you," I answered mattered-of-factly. My eyes scanned the room. Neville's father sat by the window, staring at….nothing, I suppose, but maybe he saw something I didn't. Neville still stood awkwardly, yet protectively, by his mother's bedside.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked.

I stifled a yawn. "A _friend _told me you were here. I'll get straight to the point of my visit as to save us both from more of your pointless questions. I told you and that Weasley girl the truth. I haven't heard from Draco since he disappeared. I want to find him though. And I want you to help me."

Several thoughts seem to pass across Neville's face. Edge or not, he definitely needed to work on masking his emotions. Finally, he spoke. "Ginny. Ginny Weasley, not 'that Weasley girl'," he said rather sharply.

"Ginny Weasley," I repeated obediently. Always know when to pick your battles.

"Why do you want my help?" he asked. Having been pacified, he was now befuddled. "You hate me."

I leaned against the wall, uncrossing my arms, trying to ignore the creepiness of the two people who were in the room but obviously unaware of what was going on. "I don't hate you, Longbottom. I don't necessarily like you, but that doesn't matter. I think you could…be useful."

I saw a flash of anger in his eyes. Maybe my fancy about him had not been wrong. "Why would I want to be your pawn, Parkinson?"

I grinned. "Please, call me Pansy. Parkinson almost sounds like flirting when you say it with all that repressed passion, _Neville_. Don't think of yourself as my pawn, think of yourself as my knight."

There was the momentary befuddlement again before his response. "I don't want to be your – "

His refusal was cut off by a sudden scream from his father. I started, my mind racing for a spell that might be useful. Neville calmly turned his father's chair away from the window and the scream faded to a hoarse whisper and then to complete silence. His father sat motionless, as if he hadn't just been screaming loud enough to wake the dead. Neville's mother didn't appear to have moved at all. I wondered if in the deep recesses of her mind she had noticed her husband's scream. I tilted my head, staring at her and I thought I saw a tear on her cheek, but perhaps it was just a reflection of the light streaming in through the window.

Neville's gaze bore into me, his expression challenging me to say something ill of his parents. I swallowed, trying to think of an appropriate reply or even an inappropriate reply. I stared into his eyes and realized he didn't want sympathy any more than I did.

"Will you help me or not?" I asked evenly, meeting his gaze straight on and ignoring the fact that my heart was still racing from Neville's father's scream.

"I'll help," he answered.

3.

"Why are we here?" he asked, peeking around the old cemetery. I could tell the place made him nervous. It was rather haunted. "This is the third creepy place we've been this week and we've not found out anything useful."

A ghost floated by, taunting Neville. He lurched my way, almost knocking me over.

"I don't think Draco would be here," Neville said quickly, moving behind me, so close I could feel his panting breath on my bare neck. I was tempted to pull up the hood of my cloak, but I didn't.

"No, he would never come here," I said. Or maybe he would now. He might have changed. Or there might be nothing left of him but a few unidentifiable pieces. Or he could be mad, like Longbottom's parents. I contemplated that as I moved forward. "Your parents should be dead. It would be better for you and them."

Neville made some choking sound and I noticed I could no longer feel his warm breath on my neck. I stopped and turned around.

"That's a horrible thing to say," he said. His face looked sharp in the moonlight. Jagged edges gleamed as he glared at me.

"Why is that a terrible thing to say? Because it's the truth? The truth hurts, Neville Longbottom. Would you want to live your remaining days like them? Locked in the madness of your own mind? Unable to find a path out?"

His face twisted and convulsed and I thought for a minute he would be ill at my feet. He pulled himself together though. "You don't understand."

I shrugged and turned around and started forward again. "You're just angry because I say what others only think."

I heard the loud crunching of his footsteps behind me. "There is a i reason /i others don't say it."

I spun around. "They're boring?"

"They have _feelings_!"

"BORING!"

He threw his arms up in the air. "Why am I here?"

I smiled. "Because you want to be my knight instead of Potter's pawn."

"I am not Potter's pawn."

"Good. I'm glad you're not, Neville, because you should always be a knight."

Before he could answer that a hooded figure stepped out of the shadows. Neville pulled his wand so quickly, I was almost impressed. I waved my hand at Neville. "He's the reason we're here, don't hex him. Yet."

The hooded figure threw back his hood, his beautiful cheekbones glowing in the moonlight and spoke, "Why are we meeting in a dark cemetery at midnight, Parkinson? It's so cliché."

I held back a sharp retort and smiled sweetly at Blaise Zabini. "Exactly. The other side lost Draco, have you heard anything?" I asked, knowing that Zabini only enjoyed his own games and wouldn't play at mine for long.

"Other side?" Neville asked in a slightly protesting voice. "Who ever said we had him? And if we're the _other_ side --"

I held my hand up. "Oh, don't prattle on, please. There are more than two sides in this game, Neville. Surely you realise that?"

Neville frowned and looked as if he was going to speak, but Blaise spoke first. "I do not even want to know why you brought that lump with you, Parkinson, and I do not care. I've heard whispers about Draco, but I haven't heard he's looking for _you_, Pansy Parkinson, so perhaps you should not spend your nights skulking about cemeteries seeking information on someone who was never truly what you wanted him to be."

"He's alive?" I asked, ignoring the truth I didn't have a response for.

"He's alive. Unfortunately," Blaise drawled, shaking his head. "The world would be a better place without him. Let Potter worry about him, let Potter worry about it _all._"

I nodded and Blaise faded into the woods and disappeared.

I sighed and leaned against the nearest tombstone. A ghost protested my presence. "I know a _priest_," I told the ghost sharply. It said a few profanities but sunk into the earth. I stared as the ground swallowed the vitreous shape. Draco was alive and if he needed my help, he wasn't asking for it. Fine. The truth did hurt, but it was better to feel the pain than to believe the lies.

Neville shifted uncomfortably next to me, as if he felt he should offer comfort, but didn't quite want to or know how to.

I lifted my gaze to his face, looking for the jagged edges I had seen earlier. They were still there, but the eyes, they spoke of something else. Something I didn't quite understand, love? Hope? I considered for a moment. Warmth. That's what his eyes held. I suddenly realised how very cold I was. I pulled my cloak tighter around myself, even though I knew that wouldn't help the chill I felt.

I sniffed slightly, raising my chin so I wouldn't look defeated. "I found out what I wanted to know."

"You didn't need my help," Neville said. Gryffindors do enjoy the obvious.

My lips curled into a smile as I held his gaze. "Didn't I?" I could be obvious as well.

For a moment Neville looked as if he was going to protest, but instead he nodded. I relished his acceptance, because it was not what I was used to.

I straightened, dusting off the back of my cloak. "Shall we go?" I asked.

"You don't have to be on the _other _side," he said, not answering my question, his eyes fixed on my face.

My heartbeat quickened, but I did my best to ignore that. "I don't think I could be civil to Potter or Granger or any Weasley….I don't think I could be on…. _your _side," I said, trying not to twist my hands like a 15 year old schoolgirl. "I fear I would lose the game."

He smiled at me. "I could help you. Again."

"Could you?"

He nodded. "Shall we go?" he asked, offering his hand to me.

I arched a brow and tossed him my best imperious look, but he didn't waver. I dropped my mask, hoping my eyes held at least a bit of warmth. I wondered if I was the pawn in his game. Studying the angles of his face and the heat of his eyes, I found I didn't care. I took his hand.


End file.
